TITLE: The Hercules Project
GENRE: Young Adult Sci-Fi/Superhero
It was still very dark when I jolted out of sleep. Dim light filtered into my room from the hall through the open door. I could just make out the blurry outline of my father, his face inches from mine. He was in the process of shaking me for the third or fourth time when I managed to croak that I was awake.
The surface of his glasses flashed in the low light as he leaned back. The more alert I became, the more detail I could make out and the more concerned I got.
"Dad." I used my crippled fingers to push at my covers and struggled to pull myself upright. "What's wrong?"
Instead of telling me anything, which was typical of my father, he got up and headed for my door.
"Get dressed, Wyatt," he said over his shoulder. "We don't have much time."
I glanced at the small digital affair on the dresser next to me. 2:12 AM. He wasn't serious. I considered snuggling back down under the warmth of my comforter. But, I knew if I did he would take me wherever we were going in my pajamas. I wasn't ready for that level of embarrassment, thanks.
I could hear him moving around downstairs and swore under my breath at him for not staying to help. Like he would ever think about anyone but himself.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
#9 January Secret Agent
TITLE: The Words of Adriel
GENRE: MG Urban Fantasy
Go to your room. Close the door. Lock it. Light a candle. Turn out the lights. Before you read further, recite aloud the following words.
I cast aside the shadows that follow me. I shed myself of all which is unholy. Cloak me from the ones who seek to do me harm. Protect me. Guard me. Keep me.
Good. They won't be able to watch you now. Under no circumstances read beyond this point unless you've followed my directions. Otherwise they'll know I've told you. You'll start to hear them. At first you'll think they're just voices in your head, but they'll grow louder, whispering in your ears all sorts of horrifying things that will keep you awake at night. Then you'll see them. Everywhere. In the eyes of your friends, down dark alleys, when you're alone. They're always there when you're alone. Keep the candle burning. Keep the door locked. And whatever you do, do not turn on the lights.
It began with a book. Bound in leather and stuffed with worn, yellowing pages, the book found me. It sat just out of reach on the top shelf of the school library, surrounded by other books, but alone nonetheless. Its torn spine caught my attention as I searched the fiction section for the next crime novel to help me fall asleep at night.
My psychiatrist had recommended reading to put an end to my insomnia. I know, right? What thirteen-year-old suffers from insomnia? Give me a break.
GENRE: MG Urban Fantasy
Go to your room. Close the door. Lock it. Light a candle. Turn out the lights. Before you read further, recite aloud the following words.
I cast aside the shadows that follow me. I shed myself of all which is unholy. Cloak me from the ones who seek to do me harm. Protect me. Guard me. Keep me.
Good. They won't be able to watch you now. Under no circumstances read beyond this point unless you've followed my directions. Otherwise they'll know I've told you. You'll start to hear them. At first you'll think they're just voices in your head, but they'll grow louder, whispering in your ears all sorts of horrifying things that will keep you awake at night. Then you'll see them. Everywhere. In the eyes of your friends, down dark alleys, when you're alone. They're always there when you're alone. Keep the candle burning. Keep the door locked. And whatever you do, do not turn on the lights.
It began with a book. Bound in leather and stuffed with worn, yellowing pages, the book found me. It sat just out of reach on the top shelf of the school library, surrounded by other books, but alone nonetheless. Its torn spine caught my attention as I searched the fiction section for the next crime novel to help me fall asleep at night.
My psychiatrist had recommended reading to put an end to my insomnia. I know, right? What thirteen-year-old suffers from insomnia? Give me a break.
#8 January Secret Agent
TITLE: Haven
GENRE: YA Suspense/Romance
It was the look on my Father's face, ironically, that strengthened my wavering resolve. That he was furious was obvious. I had become accustomed lately to seeing that expression, but it had never before been directed at me. I should have reacted in fear and intimidation, and probably would have if I hadn't seen a glimpse of relief in his eyes as well. Despite his ranting to the contrary, he wanted us to go. That tiny glimpse gave me courage at the same time that it broke my heart. Why would he want us to
go? Hurt but determined, I took a protective step in front of my crying mother. Behind her I could see my brothers. Juan Carlos' fury echoed Dad's. Anger in his narrowed eyes, fists clenched at his sides. And Thomas, my best friend, my brother--how could I leave him--looked confused and horrified. He moved to place himself between Dad and me, turning his head to look at each of us as he tried to assess what to do.
"Family is everything!" my father shouted, "Especially now! You would abandon us when we need you the most?" His voice caught slightly at the end, a small almost unnoticeable sound that told me that behind his anger, his heart was breaking as well.
"Johnny," my mother said, struggling to speak through her tears and using the nickname that before now had always made him smile, "We're not abandoning you. Please come with us."
GENRE: YA Suspense/Romance
It was the look on my Father's face, ironically, that strengthened my wavering resolve. That he was furious was obvious. I had become accustomed lately to seeing that expression, but it had never before been directed at me. I should have reacted in fear and intimidation, and probably would have if I hadn't seen a glimpse of relief in his eyes as well. Despite his ranting to the contrary, he wanted us to go. That tiny glimpse gave me courage at the same time that it broke my heart. Why would he want us to
go? Hurt but determined, I took a protective step in front of my crying mother. Behind her I could see my brothers. Juan Carlos' fury echoed Dad's. Anger in his narrowed eyes, fists clenched at his sides. And Thomas, my best friend, my brother--how could I leave him--looked confused and horrified. He moved to place himself between Dad and me, turning his head to look at each of us as he tried to assess what to do.
"Family is everything!" my father shouted, "Especially now! You would abandon us when we need you the most?" His voice caught slightly at the end, a small almost unnoticeable sound that told me that behind his anger, his heart was breaking as well.
"Johnny," my mother said, struggling to speak through her tears and using the nickname that before now had always made him smile, "We're not abandoning you. Please come with us."
#7 January Secret Agent
TITLE: PLATINUM DIARIES
GENRE: YA Paranormal
Headmaster Looper sucks.
If I was a different kind of girl I'd spray paint that on his car, on the front of the school, and on his face. But since I didn't aspire to spend my junior year in juvenile detention, I'd have to make do with laughing my head off at 11:49 when he'd slip on a glop of mashed potatoes and bust his butt in the cafeteria today. Remembering my dream made me momentarily forget how hot and sticky I was from riding my bike two miles to school.
11:49. I loved when my dreams gave me an exact time. Mostly, I could only pin-point time of day--morning, afternoon, evening. For whatever reason, I'd looked at the clock while I was in the dream. So, I planned to be front and center for the show.
My dreams always come true. It was the one awesome thing about me. And I don't mean like if it was my one and only dream to be a pop star, I'd practice, cultivate an image, and before I knew it, I'd be the next tabloid princess with mediocre talent. No. If I dreamed that Headmaster Looper would slip on mashed potatoes and fall in the middle of the cafeteria, then he would slip on mashed potatoes, bringing embarrassment to himself and joy to everyone else. A giggle bubbled up into my throat--and I do not giggle--but I couldn't help it whenever I thought about what was to come.
GENRE: YA Paranormal
Headmaster Looper sucks.
If I was a different kind of girl I'd spray paint that on his car, on the front of the school, and on his face. But since I didn't aspire to spend my junior year in juvenile detention, I'd have to make do with laughing my head off at 11:49 when he'd slip on a glop of mashed potatoes and bust his butt in the cafeteria today. Remembering my dream made me momentarily forget how hot and sticky I was from riding my bike two miles to school.
11:49. I loved when my dreams gave me an exact time. Mostly, I could only pin-point time of day--morning, afternoon, evening. For whatever reason, I'd looked at the clock while I was in the dream. So, I planned to be front and center for the show.
My dreams always come true. It was the one awesome thing about me. And I don't mean like if it was my one and only dream to be a pop star, I'd practice, cultivate an image, and before I knew it, I'd be the next tabloid princess with mediocre talent. No. If I dreamed that Headmaster Looper would slip on mashed potatoes and fall in the middle of the cafeteria, then he would slip on mashed potatoes, bringing embarrassment to himself and joy to everyone else. A giggle bubbled up into my throat--and I do not giggle--but I couldn't help it whenever I thought about what was to come.
#6 January Secret Agent
TITLE: White Lies and Friendship Ties
GENRE: Middle Grade Contemporary
Dirty clothes invaded Connor's bedroom. Tee shirts hung from his desk chair and gym socks covered the floor. One last pair of shorts peeked out from his dresser drawer. Yes, and we have a winner! He put them on, along with his Red Sox jersey and raced down the hall to his mom's bedroom. The floor boards creaked as he skidded to a stop at her door.
"Hey, Mom," he whispered. "Aren't you going to get up? I have to leave in twenty minutes."
Her eyes barely opened. "What? No. I'm so tired, Connor. I didn't sleep at all last night."
But, it's my first day of school.
She rolled over and Connor trudged back to his room. She always made French toast for him on his first day. His dad took embarrassing pictures of him in the front yard. Today was nothing like then. It wasn't even close. I guess starting eighth grade isn't a big deal anyway. So much had changed since his dad's funeral. The bathroom smelled like a port-a-potty and the old food in the refrigerator crawled away. It wasn't his mom's fault. She was sad. Someday she would clean and do the grocery
shopping like she used to. Soon she would get dressed into real clothes, not just her bathrobe. She'd notice that Connor was still around-that he didn't die when his dad did. Until then, he would fix everything. If he didn't, the foster care people would come, because that's what they did.
GENRE: Middle Grade Contemporary
Dirty clothes invaded Connor's bedroom. Tee shirts hung from his desk chair and gym socks covered the floor. One last pair of shorts peeked out from his dresser drawer. Yes, and we have a winner! He put them on, along with his Red Sox jersey and raced down the hall to his mom's bedroom. The floor boards creaked as he skidded to a stop at her door.
"Hey, Mom," he whispered. "Aren't you going to get up? I have to leave in twenty minutes."
Her eyes barely opened. "What? No. I'm so tired, Connor. I didn't sleep at all last night."
But, it's my first day of school.
She rolled over and Connor trudged back to his room. She always made French toast for him on his first day. His dad took embarrassing pictures of him in the front yard. Today was nothing like then. It wasn't even close. I guess starting eighth grade isn't a big deal anyway. So much had changed since his dad's funeral. The bathroom smelled like a port-a-potty and the old food in the refrigerator crawled away. It wasn't his mom's fault. She was sad. Someday she would clean and do the grocery
shopping like she used to. Soon she would get dressed into real clothes, not just her bathrobe. She'd notice that Connor was still around-that he didn't die when his dad did. Until then, he would fix everything. If he didn't, the foster care people would come, because that's what they did.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)